5 Indian Masters

by Welknow Indian

  ‘There are ceremonies going on,’ I said, ‘and I am busy. Perhaps you could come another day?’

  He immediately turned to go; but as he reached the door he hesitated, and said, ‘May I not see the little one, sir, for a moment?’ It was his belief that Mini was still the same. He had pictured her running to him as she used to do, calling ‘O Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah!’ He had imagined too that they would laugh and talk together, just as of old. Indeed, in memory of former days, he had brought, carefully wrapped up in a paper, a few almonds and raisins and grapes, obtained somehow or other from a countryman; for what little money he had, had got.

  I repeated: ‘There is a ceremony in the house, and you will not be able to see anyone today.’

  The man’s face fell. He looked wistfully at me for a moment, then said’ Good morning,’ and went out.

  I felt a little sorry, and would have called him back, but I found he was returning of his own accord. He came close up to me and held out his offerings with the words: ‘I have brought these few things, sir, for the little one. Will you give them to her?’

  I took them, and was going to pay him, but he caught my hand and said: ‘You are very kind, sir! Keep me in your memory. Do not offer me money! You have a little girl: I too have one like her in my own home. I think of her, and bring this fruit to your child – not to make a profit for myself.’

  Saying this, he put his hand inside his big loose robe, and brought out a small and dirty piece of paper. Unfolding it with great care, he smoothed it out with both hands on my table. It bore the impression of a little hand. Not a photograph. Not a drawing. Merely the impression of an ink-smeared hand laid flat on the paper. This touch of the hand of his own little daughter he had carried always next to his heart, as he had come year after year to Calcutta to sell his wares in the streets.

  Tears came to my eyes. I forgot that he was a poor Cabuli fruit-seller, while I was – but no, what was I more than he? He also was a father.

  That impression of the hand of his little Parvati in her distant mountain home reminded me of my own little Mini.

  I sent for Mini immediately from the inner apartment. Many difficulties were raised, but I swept them aside. Clad in the red silk of her wedding-day, with the sandal paste on her forehead, and adorned as a young bride, Mini came and stood modestly before me.

  The Cabuliwallah seemed amazed at the apparition. He could not revive their old friendship. At last he smiled and said: “Little one, are you going to your father-in-law’s house?”

  But Mini now understood the meaning of the word ‘father-in-law’, and she could not answer him as of old. She blushed at the question, and stood before him with her bridelike face bowed down.

  I remembered the day when the Cabuliwallah and my Mini had first met, and I felt sad. When she had gone, Rahman sighed deeply and sat down on the floor. The idea had suddenly come to him that his daughter too must have grown up, while he had been away so long, and that he would have to make friends anew with her also. Assuredly he would not find her as she was when he left her. And besides, what might not have happened to her in these eight years?

  The marriage-pipes sounded, and the mild autumn sunlight streamed round us. But Rahman sat in the little Calcutta lane, and saw before him the barren mountains of Afghanistan.

  I took out a currency note, gave it to him, and said: ‘Go back to your daughter, Rahman, in your own country, and may the happiness of your meeting bring good fortune to my child!’

  Having made this present, I had to curtail some of the festivities. I could not have the electric lights I had intended, nor the military band, and the ladies of the house were despondent about it. But to me the wedding-feast was all the brighter for the thought that in a distant land a long-lost father had met again his only child.

  5 Price of a Head

  The ruler of Koshala was known far and wide as a friend of the helpless and poor.

  The King of Kashi was sick with jealousy. “My subject considers him greater than me. He has intrigued to capture their hearts by pretence of charity. Shameless daring! Soldiers, prepare for battle! The sword shall be the test of greatness!”

  The battle was soon over. Defeated, the ruler of Koshala fled to the jungles. The victor said: “Charity behoves none but him who has the might of arms.”

  The country was stricken with grief. Men said that the doom of the world was near, for God’s justice had ceased and the righteous suffered.

  The King of Kashi was mad with anger.

  “Why do they grieve for him? Am I nothing to them? Is it all part of a conspiracy? The enemy seeks to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Listen, my messengers, let it be known all over my land, that whoever captures the King of Koshala and brings him to my palace shall receive a hundred pieces of gold.”

  Messengers carried the proclamation from door to door. But people shrank from them, and shut their ears.

  The fallen King wandered in the jungle as a solitary ascetic.

  One day a traveller met him and said: “Tell me, forestdweller, which is the way to the Kingdom of Koshala?”

  “What sends you to that kingdom, friend?”

  The traveller replied: “I am a merchant by caste. My ship has foundered in a storm, leaving me a penniless beggar. The King of Koshala is a friend of the helpless. He will be moved by my plight.”

  The ascetic smiled to hide his tears. He thought for a while, sighed and murmured: “Come with me. I shall take you to him who will fulfil your desire.”

  The ascetic entered the palace and bowed before the King of Kashi.

  “I was the ruler of Koshala. You have promised a hundred pieces of gold to him who brings me as a captive to your palace. Give that reward to my companion, King, and redeem your vow.”

  The courtiers looked on in dumb silence, and even the soldiers fought to kill emotion in their hearts.

  The King gazed at the stranger for a long while, then rose to his feet and laughed.

  “Prisoner, you seek to conquer me through death? I will break your fond hopes. Today the victory will be mine.” He paused, then added: “Take back Koshala, O King, and with it take my heart.”

  He seized the hands of the ascetic, led him to the throne and placed the jewelled crown on his dusty hair.

  6 Guru Govinda

  Govinda, the fallen chief of the Sikhs, was recalling his own past. Hopes cherished in youth had died. His mind ached with a thousand doubts, questionings. Had he achieved naught but futility? Sad and weary, Govinda was sunk in thought when a man of the fiery race of Pathans came to him and demanded payment for a horse.

  “Leave me now, brother. I shall pay you tomorrow.”

  “No, I must have it at once,” the Pathan cried angrily, and seizing the Sikh’s hand he called him a thief.

  A naked sword flashed like lighting, and the Pathan fell lifeless on the ground.

  The Sikh chief mused gloomily on what he had done in a moment of mad anger.

  “I have shed blood uselessly,” he said to himself. “My sword has plunged me into sin. The rest of my life I must pass in atonement. “

  He sent for the Pathan’s child, began to rear him up as his own, and taught him the use of arms. His followers said:

  “We are afraid, Sire. Who has ever tamed a tiger’s cub? When the Pathan boy grows up he will be like his father.”

  “What is all my teaching worth if it fails to make a tiger’s cub grow to be a tiger? the Chief answered.

  The boy grew up. He loved the Chief as his own father and followed him about like a shadow. The old Chief’s sons had all died in battle, and the Pathan filled their place. One day the grown-up boy touched the Chief’s feet and said: “I have learnt the use of arms. Permit me now to become a soldier in the King’s army and earn my own living.”

  Govinda said: “I shall test your valour. Follow me, sword in hand.”

  They walked in silence through the forest and reached a rivulet. The water, knee-deep, shone like crystal.

>   Darkness was spreading over the sky. Govinda stopped and said: “Mahmud, come here and dig in this place.”

  A large piece of stone came out from the sand. Govinda said: “See these red stains? It’s your father’s blood. Here I severed his head instead of paying for a horse he had sold me. Take vengeance, Pathan, and quench with blood the thirst of your father’s ghost.”

  There was a cry of fierce anger and Mahmud sprang on the chief like a wounded beast. Govinda was calm and smiling. The Pathan flung the weapon at his feet and sobbed in anguish:

  “Do not play with the Devil; I have forgotten my father’s murder and learnt to love you even as I loved the dead one. Do not rouse the sleeping snake. Let it starve and die!”

  Since that day the Pathan kept apart from the Chief. He never came to him with a weapon. One evening Govinda invited him to play chess. Mahmud lost game after game. He was pondering over a move when the Chief flung at his head a piece from the chessboard and laughed mockingly:

  “A coward who plays chess with his father’s murderer – what can he expect but defeat?”

  Quick as lightning the Pathan seized a dagger that lay near at hand, and drove it into Govinda’s heart.

  The dying chief smiled contentedly and said: “Oh, my son, at last you have known a brave man’s way of avenging himself for a wrong.”

  7 The Ungrateful Sorrow

  At dawn she took her farewell.

  The mind tried to console me saying, “Everything is an illusion!”

  I was resentful, I said, “There is the table with her sewing-box on it, those flowerpots on the balcony, the fan on the bed bearing her name – surely they are real!”

  The mind explained, “Yes, and yet try and think!”

  I answered back, ‘There is nothing to think – just see – there is the novel that is lying with her hairpin stuck in the middle of the pages, still waiting to be finished. If these are only illusions, is she then to be even a greater illusion than all these?

  The mind kept silent. A friend came over and consoled me, “What is good is true, it never fades. The living world preserves it like the rare gem of a necklace on its breast!”

  I got furious and said, “How do you know? Do you mean to say that the body is no good? Why then the body must perish?”

  Like a child in a temper who keeps hitting at its mother, I tried to hurt every little refuge that I had in the whole world in the same manner. I complained, “The world is treacherous!”

  Suddenly I gave a start. I seemed to hear somebody say, “How ungrateful!”

  Looking out through the window, just behind the tamarisk tree, I saw the moon just three days old, it were, as if, the laughter of the one who had departed, playing hide and seek! A voice of censure came through the star-sprinkled dark night, “I gave myself to you, was that treachery? – and now when I am shadowed, is it there that you place your tremendous faith?”

  Premchand

  8 Box of Jewels

  Chander Prakash had no choice after passing his B.A. except to take up a job as a private tutor. His mother had died when he was still quite young. The father also closed his eyes on the world the year Prakash passed his B.A. With his father’s death, all his dreams of a successful career vanished from the horizon. He had held a high office and with his assistance, Chander Prakash was certain of a promising career. The father’s death put an end to all his hopes and his ambitions. Married as he was to an educated girl fond of good living, Chander Prakash found the meager thirty rupees that he got as tuition fee, not even sufficient for a bare living. But the Thakur Sahib whose son he taught provided him with a free furnished house next to his. This, to some extent, compensated for the low salary; for, a house like that itself would have cost Prakash at least twenty rupees a month. The work was also light. He taught the boy only for two hours a day. The Thakur and the Thakurain were both very fond of Prakash and considered him almost as a member of the family. There was no household matter on which he was not consulted.

  It was evening. Prakash had just finished his lessons with his ward, Virendra, and was about to leave when the Thakurain came in and said, “Don’t go just yet son, there is something I have to consult you about.” Prakash wondered what it could be which even Virendra was not supposed to know. Taking him aside, Umadevi, the Thakurain, said, “I have received a very good offer for Viroo. Should we get him married?” Prakash smiled and said, “This is a matter which Viroo Babu alone can decide, I am afraid.” “No, I want your opinion,” said the Thakurain. Prakash hesitated for a moment and then said, “What can I say? Undoubtedly, he is already twenty and is therefore of a marriageable age. But if he gets married he will not be able to study any longer.” “So in your opinion,” observed the Thakurain, “he ought not to get married as yet.” “You are the best judge of this,” replied Prakash, “I have put before you both the pros and the cons.” “In that case we had better get him married,” said the Thakurain, “I am afraid that if he is left alone for long he may fall into bad company.” “There is no such danger,” said Prakash, “so long as I am here but there is no harm in getting him married either if you think that he ought to.” “You will have to make all the arrangements,” said the Thakurain. Prakash smiled and nodded assent.

  The marriage was fixed and preparation began for it. Thakur Sahib was one of those people who completely lacked confidence in himself. In his eyes Prakash’s degree was worth much more than his sixty years of experience. The entire arrangements for the marriage were therefore left in Prakash’s hands. To be entrusted with spending nearly twelve thousand rupees was no mean honour. The poor tutor of yesterday found himself overnight as the sole manager of Thakur Sahib’s affairs. The whole day was spent in talking to cloth merchants, grocers and electricians. If he had wanted, he could have easily made a little fortune on these arrangements. But his conscience did not allow him this meanness to a man like Thakur Sahib who had implicit faith in him. However, the day, jewellery worth five thousand rupees was purchased, Prakash’s feet tottered. Returning home he said to Champa, his wife, “What an unfair world this is. On one side there are people like us who can hardly afford a square meal; on the other are people like Thakur Sahib who spend thousands on jewellery alone. Today he has purchased ornaments worth five thousand rupees for the daughter-in-law to be. Some of the pieces are really exquisite, masterpieces of good workmanship.” Champa spoke in her usual jealous tone, “What satisfaction is that to me? People like us are born only to slave their way through life.” God is such an unjust creature,” said Chander Prakash, “We toil the whole day and get just enough to eat at the day’s end whereas people like Thakur Sahib enjoy life without doing any work, on money left behind by their forefathers.” “It’s one’s stars that are to blame,” replied Champa, “if your parents had left you money, you would have done the same.” “And why talk about jewels alone. I haven’t even decent clothes to wear. I am wondering how I shall go to the Thakurain’s house for the marriage. I hope I get ill. That will provide a good excuse.” And saying this she started crying. Chander Prakash felt both annoyed and ashamed at his situation. Trying to placate his wife, he said, “I shall get you a new saree. Our days are also bound to change some day. And if I am still alive then, I shall cover you up with jewellery from head to foot.” Champa smiled. “Your usual stories again.” She said, “I am satisfied if we keep on getting enough to eat.” Prakash lowered his head and bit his nails not being able to fulfil his boast immediately.

  When they turned in at night after finishing their meals, the ornaments were still on Prakash’s mind. “I could not even dream,” he said, “that such beautiful jewellery could be made in this town. You would look like a queen if you wore them.” “Jewellery hardly enhances one’s beauty,” replied Champa, “I have seen women who still look very ugly even after wearing jewellery.” “What a selfish man Thakur Sahib is, really,” said Prakash, “he did not even offer a piece for you after all the work I am doing for him.” “Don’t be childish,” repr
imanded Champa. “What is so childish about it?” argued Prakash, “Hadn’t he been such a miser as I know him to be, he would have certainly offered a piece.” “I haven’t come across anyone so far” observed Champa, “who would offer his own daughter-in-law’s jewellery to somebody else just like that.” But Prakash was not convinced. “I am no mere somebody else” he went on “I am the tutor to his son and am looking after all the arrangements for the marriage. It won’t have hurt him at all if he had given me a piece worth a hundred or two hundred rupees for you. But wealth has such a crippling effect even on the most enlightened minds that generosity and large-heartedness have no place with them.”

  It was nearly getting on to midnight. Prakash could not sleep. The ornaments appeared again and again before his eyes and disturbed his sleep. Suddenly he got up. “Not even a thing on Champa,” he said to himself, “this is the age for girls to enjoy themselves; but look at her. She has to go without even the smallest thing in life.” And with these thoughts he stealthily walked out of the room, on to the roof of the house. The roof of Thakur Sahib’s house was joined to his and only a five-foot wall separated the two houses. Prakash jumped over the wall and landed lightly on Thakur Sahib’s side. There was a deadly silence in the house. “I had better go down the steps straight into Thakur Sahib’s room,” he said to himself, “if he wakes up I shall merely say that I heard footsteps coming towards the room and followed them. Nobody will doubt my words. If on the other hand, I can lay my hands on the box of jewels without waking anyone up I would have accomplished my mission. Everyone will blame the servants. I shall also say that they must be responsible for the theft. Nobody will even suspect me. After the marriage I shall leave the house and give the jewels to Champa one by one so that she won’t also be any the wiser.” Even in spite of a perfect plan however, Chander Prakash could notice a sinking feeling in his heart as he went down the steps.